How to Hang a Witch by Adriana Mather Read Free Book Online Page A

disarray.
    I fidget. “Did he tell you about the locker?”
    “Yes.” Judgment’s written in her eyebrows. “I just don’t understand how you could garner that kind of reaction so quickly.”
    I tense. “As though it would make more sense if it happened later on? When people knew me better?”
    “You know I don’t mean it that way. You snap at people unnecessarily. What’s going on with you lately? You don’t tell me anything anymore.”
    I steady myself. She’s right. Before my dad got sick, I would have told her what happened and she would have made some biting comment about the kids who did it. Which of course would make me laugh and make the whole thing easier somehow. Now it feels like I’m always on the defensive. I sigh. “There was something wrong with those pastries this morning. More than fifteen kids went home puking. Everyone blames me. That’s why they wrote PSYCHO on my locker.”
    Her lips tighten. She places a small pizza box down on the couch next to me. “I’ll handle this.” She walks out of the room.
    She’s calling the bakery. Her voice gets progressively louder and she’s using her you-are-obviously-an-idiot tone. We both have short tempers, and being on the receiving end of hers is terrifying. There were only two times when I was little that we lost our tempers at each other. But those fights were so bad, our neighbors called the police on us, once because she threw a vase at our connecting wall and another time because she screamed so loud and so long that they were afraid someone was being murdered.
    Of course, my dad wasn’t home for those fights, and I never told him. They were about me going to therapy because I didn’t have friends, and she thought I was too attached to my dad. There was always some part of me that was afraid she was right, that I was the problem.
    I open the box and take a bite of the cheese pizza—not New York standard. I check my phone for the hundredth time to see if Jaxon texted me. Nothing. All the stuff he told me today seemed real. It is a little odd, though, that he’s really nice when no one else in school is.
Great, Vivian’s suspicion of nice people has rubbed off on me.
    I stop mid-bite and put the half-eaten pizza back in the box. Jaxon admitted today that he knew about my dad. No one else in school knew. How could they? That’s the only way John could have found out. I feel sick.
    I gather my books and papers and head for my room. I can’t believe I almost trusted him. It’s easy to trick someone who’s lonely with pretty words.
I’m so stupid.
    “That doesn’t change the fact that I’m going to talk to Mable about this.” Vivian has steel in her voice. “Sorry isn’t good enough.”
    Mrs. Meriwether?
I plod up the stairs. What does she have to do with the bakery? Suddenly what Jaxon said about his mother’s cooking makes sense. The sick feeling I have spreads. Maybe Vivian was right about them.
    “It’s handled,” says Vivian from the bottom of the staircase.
    She’ll fight for me, but right now I really need comfort more than anything. “Great.” My tone reflects my disappointment.
    “You’re welcome,” she says, and I walk down the hall toward my room.
    There’s a light creaking of old wood as I approach the burgundy bedroom. I peek inside and flip on the light. The rocking chair moves back and forth. I grab the arm and it stops. I scan the room, but everything’s still.
    Stepping back into the hallway, I look both ways before heading to my room, wishing the hallway sconces were brighter and didn’t cast so many shadows.
    I stick my hand in my room and flip the lights on before I enter. I slowly push the door open to find my clothes are once again in a pile on my floor.
    “What the hell,” I say to the empty bedroom.
    Okay, that’s it.
Either someone’s messing with me or there’s something wrong with this armoire. I press the old latch a couple of times, and it squeaks. I lift what remains of the folded